


Bones in the Ocean

by emancipator2992



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, arya is alive don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29498961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emancipator2992/pseuds/emancipator2992
Summary: Eragon reflects on the past, and those who are with him no more.
Relationships: Arya Dröttningu/Eragon Shadeslayer
Kudos: 12





	Bones in the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Uh hi, probably not the update some of y'all were expecting. I'm still working on the next chapter of "Sit Next to Me". It's going a lot slower than expected, but I'll get there. 
> 
> Anyways, a friend of mine introduced me to The Longest Johns version of Bones in the Ocean and this fic wrote itself in my head the first time I listened to it.

It was six days before midsummer and Eragon stood on the balcony of his home overlooking the Edda river. He had sung it himself out of a large elm tree which grew a stone's throw from the banks of the river. It stood a short flight to the east of Mount Arngor in a secluded copse of trees, at the intersection of the Edda river and one of its many tributaries.

Eragon had built it, and the surrounding garden, a few years after he had arrived in the east to rebuild the order of dragonriders. He had his personal quarters in the dragonloft of the mountain proper but had quickly come to the conclusion that it was not private enough.

The sheer cacophony of mental noise surrounding the mountain and the bustling city at its base could be overwhelming at times, especially when he was grappling with his responsibilities as head of the order. So he’d built this little retreat, and warded it extensively. Only a trusted few knew its real location. Saphira knew of course, he could keep no secrets from her. So did Arya, now that she had come to dwell with the riders.  
It was where he could go to reflect.

There was a crack of thunder and Eragon’s eyes were drawn to the storm he’d been watching advance across the plains for the last hour. The wind began to gust, a sign of impending rain.

Sure enough the first drops fell a few minutes later and it was soon hammering down. Eragon was forced to take his brooding inside.

_Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land_

_And I paddle away from brave England's white sands_

_To search for my long ago forgotten friends_

_To search for the place I hear all sailers end_

The strength of the wind made the whole house sway and Eragon hoped Saphira was not caught in the air during her hunt. He reflexively reached out to touch her consciousness only to remember that she was much too far away for him to sense.  
Eragon took a sip of mead, a gift from the visiting dwarven ambassador, and let his mind wander. Today held a grim significance for him. 

His cousin Roran, the one whom above all else Eragon considered a brother, had passed away on this day some 260 years ago. With a sigh he sipped his mead again and turned away from the screen door, heading further into the house.

Loneliness pressed at his mind. Saphira was out hunting with the latest clutch of younglings, leaving Eragon alone. It pained them both to be separated, especially on a night like this, but it had to be done. Duty compelled them both. Being without her familiar presence was uncomfortable at the best of times but when the wolves of memory howled in his mind, it was downright depressing.

His restless legs lead him to wander the halls of his home and he finds himself in his study, where many fairths adorn the walls. Eragon’s eyes fall upon one which brings many memories rushing back.

Roran.

The last time they had seen each other in person was on the day he departed down the Edda River, leaving Alagaeisia behind. Roran’s pained cry as Eragon had sailed away still hung in his mind all these years later. The sense of guilt over leaving his cousin behind had never truly left. He never got to see his cousin become one of the most respected earls in the restored Broddring Kingdom.

Guilt over not being there to see his niece Ismra, Roran’s pride and joy, came of age, guilt from missing her wedding, guilt from missing the birth of his grandnephew.

_As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind_

_I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find_

_I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea_

_I remember the fallen, do they think of me?_

_When their bones in the ocean forever will be_

As his eyes travelled over the fairth Eragon remembered the moment he told Roran of his longevity, the night before they raided Helgrind.

“Can you still be human if you have no mortal end?” His cousin’s question still burned in Eragon’s ears. He had thought of those words many times over the years. Whenever he did, a quote from the same conversation would always come to mind.

“Saphira and I will endure.”

And endure they did. The sixth generation of Stronghammers now ruled in the valley Eragon had once called home, and slowly but surely the family resemblance diminished with each new earl. He still talked with them through the enchanted mirrors he used to commune with the leaders of Alagaeisia, but it stopped feeling like he was dealing with family a long time ago.

It was an ever sobering reminder that his cousin had passed on.

Eragon took another sip of mead.

_Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew_

_To a place where my hope died along with my crew_

_So I swallow my grief and face life's final test_

_To find promise of peace and the solace of rest_

Eragon’s feet compelled him to move to the next fairth on the wall, that of the queen he swore allegiance to all those years ago. 

Nasuada.

Roran had been the staunchest ally of Nasuada’s in the years following the overthrow of Galbatorix, and his death had helped speed her own. Without him to hold some of the more rebellious earls in check, whispers of dissent soon filled the halls of the court in the newly restored Ilirea. This, along with the stress of having no legitimate heir, would combine with the frailties of old age to end her life.

Eragon swirled the mead in his cup, its sweet taste turning to bitterness as he remembered not being able to be at her side to ease her passing into the void. Instead he had been, along with Arya and the rest of the new order of riders, desperately trying to stave off a civil war over who would rule next.

He hadn’t even been able to attend her funeral, instead he was leagues away in Aberon in an unsuccessful attempt to keep an elderly (and raving mad) Orrin from invading.

Alagaesia had known war again in that year, and Eragon had yet to fully forgive himself.

Unable to face the stern gaze of his liege’s likeness, Eragon turned away to the next fairth on the wall.

_As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears_

_Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers_

_My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea_

_I remember the fallen, do they think of me?_

_When their bones in the ocean forever will be_

Orik. 

King of the dwarves and one of his closest friends. 

Dwarves were longer lived than humans, but that only postponed the inevitable. Orik had passed in Helzvog’s halls less than 50 years ago, a long life for a dwarf. 

Eragon had been far away from Mount Arngor at the time, exploring the far reaches of the world. He did not find out about his friend’s passing until his return. He only just reached Farthen Dur in time for the funeral. 

Watching the stone be placed over Orik’s face as he was laid to rest inside the Hall of Kings was one of the most emotionally painful of his life. Funerals were meant to be the culmination of the grieving process and allow the participants to turn the page from grief to healing. 

But Eragon had not been ready. The whole event had been completed before he could process it. His duties kept him too busy to ever take the time to deal with it. 

So he buried it, adding it to the long list of burdens that were his to bear. It didn’t come up often but when it did, it was nights like this. Glancing at the half empty cup in his hands, he placed on a nearby table. 

It wasn’t helping, if anything it was making it worse. 

_When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand_

_I shed a small tear for my home upon land_

_Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife_

_Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life_

There were many more fairths on the wall. Memories of another time, and some were not even his. 

Oromis, whose death Eragon experienced through the mind of his dragon. 

Brom, taken before Eragon could call him father. 

Selena, the mother he’s never known. 

It felt like a lifetime ago. 

“It _was_ a lifetime ago.” He reminded himself. “Several in fact.” 

So why did it still hurt? 

_As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes_

_And my boat listed over and tried to capsize_

_I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea,_

_I remember the living do they think of me?_

_When my bones in the ocean forever will be_

Eragon sighed, and suddenly his nose was filled with the scent of crushed pine needles. Slender hands wrapped themselves around his waist from the back. Eragon recognized their owner immediately when a familiar presence touched his mind.  
Arya. 

Eragon felt her lips press to his cheek. Her skin was wet, no doubt from the storm. It was an hour’s run from the mountain to his home. 

“Shadeslayer.” Her musical voice was a welcome sound to his ears. 

“Shadeslayer.” Eragon replied, his voice hoarse. 

The treehouse creaked as another gust shook it. Eragon’s hands came to rest on Arya’s, their fingers entwining like the roots of an old tree. 

“Something on your mind?” Arya whispered. "The land itself senses your distress." 

“Memories.” was Eragon’s murmured reply. 

He felt Arya’s head nod against his own. 

“Me too.” She said softly , and pressed another kiss to his cheek. The soaked bangs of her raven hair brushed against the skin of his neck, sending comforting shivers down his spine. “What troubles you?” 

_Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss_

_I'm not sure what I want but I don't think it's this_

_As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on_

_I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone_

“Why do we endure?” Eragon asked, his voice choked with emotion. His eyes darted between the fairths on the wall. 

Arya was silent as she contemplated his question. She rested the side of her head against the back of his neck. 

“I have no answer to that Eragon.” Arya said after a moment. “Nobody does.” 

Silence again, and the ever-present sound of rain and creaking wood. 

“I do not wish to watch all around me wither.” 

“Do you resent Saphira’s choice?” 

“Of course not!” Eragon answered. 

“Then?” 

“I only wish…” Eragon sighed, his shoulders and head slumping forward. “I only wish I could have been there, with each of them. For their sake, as much as mine.” 

_As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind_

_As I live all the years that they left me behind_

_I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea_

_I remember the fallen and they think of me_

_For our souls in the ocean together will be_

“You had your duty, as did they.” Arya said. She gave his hands a comforting squeeze. Her voice was gentle, but Eragon had been around her long enough to detect the slightest quiver of emotion within it. 

He stayed silent, a tear rolling down his cheek. It was swiftly followed by another. 

“Cherish their memory.” Arya said. “Carry it forward to those who never knew them.” 

Eragon nodded. He turned to face her. Warm emerald eyes looked back at him. He found no judgement in their depths. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words were not there. Instead he reached out and pulled her into an embrace as a sob wracked his frame. Slender arms once again encircled his waist. 

Eragon felt the loneliness drain out of him, banished by Arya’s touch and scent. The pain was still there, but it felt dulled, more manageable. 

“For her,” he thought to himself, “For her, I will _endure_.” 

_I remember the fallen and they think of me,_

_For our souls in the ocean together will be_

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing is what got me into fanfiction back in 2008, so they hold a special place in my heart. Writing it got me thinking on some other ideas with these two so some more of that may be coming in the future (after I finish Sit Next to Me of course). Hope it was okay? I still think it's a bit rough but I was getting too emotional while writing it so I just wanted to post it. Thanks for reading!


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